Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 68177 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 341(@200wpm)___ 273(@250wpm)___ 227(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68177 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 341(@200wpm)___ 273(@250wpm)___ 227(@300wpm)
“My parents are going to be up here in less than thirty minutes. They called when they were crossing the bridge into the city,” Braxton says, patting my ass as he walks past me, and my eyes widen in horror as he continues to speak from the closet he disappears into. “I told my mom you’re here. She’s excited to meet you.”
I look around the room for somewhere to hide then shake my head. I don’t need to hide here. I have an apartment just a few stories down. I leave the bathroom and go in search of my phone and bag so I can get into my apartment, for the first time wishing I wouldn’t have taken off my stupid watch, because I could use it to get into my place. Not finding my stuff in the bedroom, I go to the kitchen then the living room and the office I found the last time I was here.
“Can I ask what it is you’re looking for?” Braxton asks casually, and I turn, finding him leaning against the counter in the kitchen, drinking a cup of coffee.
“I need my bag and my phone,” I tell him, going back to search under the couch, since I didn’t look there.
“Why do you need your purse?”
I rest my hands on my hips, breathing heavy. “I need to go home.”
“You’re not going home,” he states, taking a sip of his coffee.
I stomp my foot. “Braxton, right now is not the time for you to tell me what I can or can’t do. I need to go home. I haven’t used conditioner in two days and I’m not meeting your parents for the first time while wearing your underwear.”
“Conditioner?”
“Girls use it after they wash their hair. If they don’t, their hair looks like mine did yesterday when it dried.”
“What was wrong with your hair yesterday?” He frowns.
“Oh my God.” I toss my hand into the air. “That is not the point! The point is I need to find my bag so I can go home, so where is it?”
“I don’t know where your bag is.” I narrow my eyes on his, trying to figure out if he’s lying. “Did you leave it at the cabin or in my car last night?”
Did I? Shit. I don’t know if I did or not. “Where are your car keys? I’ll go down and check your car.” When he doesn’t make a move to help me, I start to search for his keys, swearing I’m never, not ever, going to take off my watch ever again.
“If you were wearing your watch, you wouldn’t need your phone or your purse,” he informs me smugly, like he just read my mind, and I turn just enough to glare at him. He holds up his cup of coffee. “I’m just saying, baby. I came up with the applications in that watch to prevent situations just like this.”
“I hate you,” I mutter, ignoring his laughter as I go to the bedroom to search there.
After going through his drawers, dirty laundry, and checking under every surface in the bedroom, I stomp into the kitchen and plant my hands on my hips. “I’m going to ask you nicely to give me your keys, and if you don’t, I swear I’m going to kill you and deal with the consequences later.”
“Baby, I’d like you to meet my parents.” He smiles, and I swear I feel the blood drain from my face and my stomach plummet. I close my eyes, hoping he’s joking, but when I hear a woman laugh and a man chuckle, I know he’s not. I slowly open my eyes back up and then pivot on my toes to face the island that surrounds the kitchen. Standing behind the bar is a man and woman, both attractive, both with features they have passed down to their son. “Mom, Dad—” Braxton comes to me, taking my hand. “I’d like you to finally meet Dakota. Dakota, my parents, Bret and Alisha Adams.”
“I promise I didn’t mean I would really kill your son,” I blurt, feeling their eyes bore into me. “I just… I just....”
“Do you know how many times I threatened Braxton with death or some form of torture growing up?” his mom asks me with a smile and then answers her own question. “Every day. Every day of his life, he was always doing something to drive me to the brink of a meltdown.”
“It’s true,” his dad agrees, coming over in jeans and a hoodie with a football team logo on the front, giving me a quick hug before taking a seat on one of the stools.
I look at Braxton and see the look on his face and can’t help but laugh. “Thanks, guys,” he mutters, and I laugh harder.
His mom comes around to me, looking stylish in a pair of jeans and a white button-down shirt. She grabs my upper arms, holding my gaze. “The point is we know how frustrating our son can be. So there is nothing you don’t feel right now that we haven’t felt before.”